


Burn The Land

by saragreenleaf



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Awkward Family Suppers, Gray Jedi, Implied/Referenced Torture, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Politics, Qui-Gon Lives, Recovering Darksiders, Revenge, Space Pirates, That's Not How The Force Works, like a whole lot of revenge, the Jedi Council maybe aren't shining paragons of virtue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-03-15 09:54:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13610901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saragreenleaf/pseuds/saragreenleaf
Summary: “I’m sorry about this,” Obi-Wan apologized, rubbing sheepishly at a particularly vivid blue mark on his jawline. “We need a place to lay low.”“Everyone we know is trying to kill us,” Xanatos explained tersely. He kept glancing over his shoulder, avoiding looking at Qui-Gon or Anakin.“Not everyone,” Feemor sighed, pulling the door open farther.--In which Qui-Gon Jinn attends an awkward family reunion, Anakin Skywalker meets his brother Padawans in the best way possible, Xanatos du Crion makes amends as part of his twelve-step Darksiders Anonymous program, and Feemor Darik just wants to know what in the Force is going on. Obi-Wan Kenobi really needs a nap and not to have to deal with this nonsense.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first Star Wars fanfiction. There are... a whole lot of pages of this written, but they're in no particular order, so don't expect super quick updates!  
> I'd like to preface this by saying that this universe took a hardcore left into the wrong lane around The Phantom Menace, but you'll notice pretty quickly that there are other alterations before that. I borrow a little from various versions of Legends, especially from Obi-Wan's backstory established in Jedi Apprentice. Everything will come out in time, so just sit back and enjoy the ride.
> 
> Trigger warnings for this chapter: brief, non-graphic references to past torture.

**44 BBY, Bandomeer**

Xanatos du Crion looked out over the landscape of Bandomeer, waiting. 

It was a disgusting planet, but ultimately one that had its purposes and served it well. The corruption ran rampant even without his interference, only barely affected by the constant, watchful Jedi presence on planet. The AgriCorps. Home to the rejected Jedi, the unworthy.

He sneered at the thought, raising an idle hand to rub against his scar. The unworthy suffered less, it seemed. He’d paid the price thrice over for his talent, his aptitudes. His unwillingness to repay the manipulation and demands of the Jedi back in gratitude and faithful service. As if the Jedi on the Council weren’t any less corrupt than the slavers he’d taken control of here, if in a slightly different way.

At least these slavers didn’t kidnap babies and brainwash them.

Thoughts of the Jedi always made him sick. His years with them had taught him many things, but most importantly, it had taught him how to hate. Had taught him that they valued no life above their station in the galaxy and their reputations, and even the so-called mavericks or rebels to the Jedi way always fell into line with these ideals.

The Jedi didn’t understand love or family, how could they? They weren’t allowed to know it.

 _But they tried anyway, didn’t they?_ a small voice at the back of his mind reminded him, flashing through images of a tall, long-haired man helping children out of rubble, that same man’s heartbroken expression when Xanatos had chosen his real family over the man who had… the man who had raised him.

 _He didn’t care about you_ , he reminded himself firmly. _He let you burn_.

_That’s why he deserves to burn, too._

The plan had always been to kill Qui-Gon Jinn, to take revenge for that night, all those years ago. To prove him wrong. Xanatos was strong enough, he was smart enough, he was…

It occurred to him suddenly that he was good enough without the Galactic Senate or the Jedi riding his ass for murder. This wasn’t something he could cover up, not with that kid running his mouth to anyone who’d listen. Not with the Galactic attention about to be on Bandomeer.

_No, he must burn!_

But why now? His hand moved to rub at his forehead. He needed to kill Jinn and get this over with, the whole situation was giving him a migraine. Thoughts ran together a bit. The world felt a little hazy, until…

Dragging his hand down over his face, his nail hitched on the tough scar tissue, the spark of pain enough to clear his mind. That intense desire to kill Jinn, to get it over with now, it was… It wasn’t all his own. Unwittingly, his mind went to the shadowy figure who’d promised him so much power. Sidious. It wasn’t impossible that whoever this was was messing with him. Using the bombs had been a suggestion from him.

Qui-Gon Jinn deserved to die. For all the pain he’d put Xanatos through, he deserved to burn. But Xanatos deserved to know that the revenge was of his own doing and not under the influence of some sleemo. Xanatos had plenty of time to make sure that the murder would be perfect, not mired in this slavery and mining scandal about to break out on Bandomeer. Determined, he pulled out a datapad and deactivated all of the bombs in the mining facility. They would be discovered but wouldn't kill the tentative Master-Padawan duo that raced towards him.

Xanatos would free his mind of whatever influences lay upon it, and then he would come to kill Qui-Gon Jinn.

With a swish of his cape, Xanatos du Crion slipped into the night, readying himself to finish this battle another day.

 

* * *

 

**28 BBY, Tanaab – 16 Years Later**

Tanaab was a beautiful planet, in Feemor’s opinion, and his opinion counted for rather a lot considering how many planets he had seen at this point. It wasn’t just the physical beauty, although the rolling fields and gorgeous skies were certainly lovely. The peaceful ambiance that he had so desperately sought after the whole Xanatos affair seemed to be in abundance here, and Feemor woke up every day more grateful than the last that he was undisturbed out here, able to soak in the serenity the Jedi were famous for.

He'd always known that he wasn’t a Jedi meant for wild adventures. With Qui-Gon, he’d done his fair share of crazy stunts and negotiated impossible truces and seen the most exotic sights and Force, it was _exhausting_. That wasn’t the life for him. He’d taken solo missions as a young Knight as well, and realized he had an affinity for the agricultural arts that filled him with an incredible sense of fulfilment on one particular mission to Felucia. It wasn’t too long after that he was overseeing the AgriCorps on the Outer Rim, banishing all drama or excitement from his life.

Well, banishing most drama and excitement. The only piece he allowed into his home – or, more accurately, had a standing invitation to his home – was his brother Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi. The new Knight had needed a refuge that Feemor was all too happy to provide.

The two had grown very close after the Naboo thing. They’d spoken infrequently over the years, but shortly after the completion of his first mission, Obi-Wan had come to Tanaab to recuperate a bit and had become a regular guest since.

Feemor had a lot of calm, quiet mornings. This was not to be one of them, and he knew it from the moment his door chimed.

Obi-Wan was at his doorstep, covered in bruises. This was not… unusual. Unfortunately. Feemor had slapped bacta patches on Obi-Wan’s wounds many, many times. A small cut on his cheek was dripping blood into his beard and the dark circles under his eyes were not, as it appeared at first glance, black eyes. Just exhaustion. This would have be cause enough for concern on its own.

Obi-Wan, however, was not alone. He had brought three individuals of varying degrees of unusual with him.

Xanatos du Crion wasn’t a common visitor, but Feemor wasn’t terribly surprised to see him there. The classically handsome but scarred brother Padawan who had caused their lineage so much trouble had come to Tanaab a few times, but Feemor believed that Xanatos thought the farming planet beneath him. While the very-probably-Obi-Wan-induced visits were memorable, they weren’t so surprising as to be concerning.

The cause of the potential trouble was looming behind them, one of the tallest men Feemor had ever met, and for a moment, Feemor refused to believe his eyes. Probably would have continued refusing to believe his senses if not for the Force gently whispering in his ears, prodding gently at the remnants of an old training bond.

Qui-Gon Jinn was on his doorstep, hand on the shoulder of a pre-teened, nondescript child.

They hadn’t seen each other or even spoken in years. Decades, even. The last they had spoken was just before Xanatos’s Trials, on one of Feemor’s rare visits to Coruscant to accept a new assignment from the Council. Then, he had gladly accepted the opportunity to visit with his former Master and brother Padawan. The next he heard of either, Qui-Gon had disowned all of his Padawans and Xanatos was considered a Darksider and, well… That was that.

The ghost of this man and his disavowal had chased Feemor from the Jedi as a whole, even more than his inherent desire to be away from society. He had slipped into the sort of life many viewed as a punishment or demotion with a sigh of relief, and not just due to the decrease in people who had heard the stories. Farming was his calling. The Force sang to him through every green shoot, whispered to him with the wind.

He listened hard for it now, desperately grappling for serenity, patience, and the strength to _not_ punch Qui-Gon Jinn.

Putting the issue aside for now, Feemor turned to Obi-Wan, eyebrow raised expectantly.

“I’m sorry about this,” his brother Padawan apologized, rubbing sheepishly at a particularly vivid blue mark on his jawline. “We need a place to lay low.”

“Everyone we know is trying to kill us,” Xanatos explained tersely. He kept glancing over his shoulder, avoiding looking at their former Master.

“Not everyone,” Feemor sighed, pulling the door open farther.

Obi-Wan gave him a tired smile as they all entered.

His table didn’t seat five people, he reflected idly, but he had enough food to feed them all and that was the important thing.

The child, he assumed, was Anakin Skywalker. Anakin seemed the least bothered by whatever was going on, and Feemor could tell right away that he was going to take a shine to this kid. Despite appearing unbothered, he had the bright spark of intelligence shining in his eyes, and Feemor knew that Anakin was going to be an asset to the Order one day.

Xanatos didn’t appear overly bothered either, if a little paranoid, although that was just Xani pretending he knew everything and could take everything in stride. Feemor could sense the apprehension rolling off of him in waves, and it was mostly directed towards the man they had both called Master at some point. Xani didn’t like to seem vulnerable anyway, but showing any kind of weakness to Qui-Gon would be a massive blow to Xani’s pride.

Their former Master looked horribly awkward. It wasn’t the size of the room or the furniture – Feemor being taller than average himself meant that nothing around was small – that was keeping him from ease, but rather the company. All of his Padawans, three of which he had disowned, were sitting around him, and it had to be terribly uncomfortable, which Feemor silently and secretly relished.

Last he’d heard, Obi-Wan was going to Korriban to poke around and see if he could stir anything up. What had happened to bring this group together? Once he’d seen his silent, brooding guests into the living room and promised them tea and snacks, Feemor snagged Obi-Wan’s arm, dragged him into the kitchen and closed the door.

“That _is_ Anakin, right?” Feemor wanted to make sure before they moved on.

“Yes, that’s Anakin. I am terribly sorry for dropping everyone on your doorstep like this, but if I had to spend _one more day_ stuck in the middle of Xani and Qui-Gon’s angst, I would have _really_ gone to the Dark Side.”

Obi-Wan looked absolutely exhausted, pushing to his breaking point, so Feemor pulled him into a hug, his heart fit to burst. “No apologies, little brother. I love hosting.”

“You’re such a liar. You hate company,” Obi-Wan laughed wetly into his shoulder. He was shaking slightly. From stress or exhaustion or emotion or all three.

“I love hosting _you_ ,” he countered, grinning even if his brother couldn’t see it. “And I can’t say I mind Anakin.”

Obi-Wan stepped away a little, looking a little steadier. “And what about the other two?”

“They’re going to be sleeping in the barn,” he quipped, making Obi-Wan laugh again. He let Obi-Wan pull away, but kept an arm around his shoulders and directed him to lean against the counter. “There, better. Now, can you tell me what’s going on?”

Obi-Wan partnering with Qui-Gon Jinn wasn’t just odd, it was something Obi-Wan had sworn to never do again. Feemor remembered all too well his ex-Master’s tendency to go all or nothing – in trying to save someone new, Qui-Gon had neglected to consider those for whom he was already responsible, and had broken Obi-Wan’s trust irreparably.

It was sort of funny; Feemor could live with what Qui-Gon had done to him as a new Knight. Despite the situations being similar, he couldn’t condone what Qui-Gon had done to Obi-Wan. Feemor didn’t think it had been intended maliciously, but he kept himself on Tanaab so he wouldn’t have to test his ability to stick to the Code. He’d seen Obi-Wan upset over it one too many times to be able to play nice.

Seeing them working together was _very_ troubling. It also took Feemor’s right to punch Qui-Gon on Obi-Wan’s behalf if Obi-Wan had decided to play nice.

“I will give you the full story later, but… The short version is that Qui-Gon and Anakin got kidnapped by Cutter and his pirates so I rescued them. We landed on Yavin 4 so I could meet with Xani and they could negotiate transport back to Coruscant, but we were ambushed. We got attacked on two more planets before coming here. This was the only safe place I could think of, and –”

“You don’t need to explain why you came. You’re always welcome here, Obi.”

He sighed miserably, shoulders heaving. “I'm afraid we’ve brought danger to your doorstep.”

“I’m a Jinn Padawan. I can handle it.” Feemor squeezed Obi-Wan tighter. “How are you feeling? How was being on the _Cutlass_ again?”

“I am… Force, I’m so fucking confused, Feemor.” He leaned against Feemor as much as he was leaning against the counter, and Feemor rubbed his arm as he continued speaking. “Being back there was… overwhelming, to say the least. It was ironic, in a way. There I was, rescuing Qui-Gon Jinn from the cell in which I spent a desperate month and a half, hoping beyond hope _he_ would save _me_. He never came for me, but _I_ came for _him_. Gods, Feemor. He’s like a drug. I thought I had stopped caring, but the moment I saw the suspicion and doubt written all over his face at the sight of me, my heart broke all over again.”

“Oh, Obi.”

Obi-Wan forced a dry, brittle laugh. “We ought to start on the tea if we want to prevent Xan murdering Qui-Gon.” He didn't take his head from Feemor's shoulders. 

Feemor wanted nothing more in the universe than to hold his little brother closer and never let go. They could have a few more moments, surely. A few more moments for Obi-Wan to leave down his walls and just relax, just let Feemor take care of him. “Xan won’t kill Qui-Gon, Obi. Are you sure…”

“Feemor, if I stop to have my emotional breakdown right now, we’ll never get anything solved.” His voice was firm where his posture was not, but regretful. A little resentful. 

Feemor was Jedi enough to acknowledge that he was also a little resentful of the universe at large. He wanted nothing more than to keep his family safe, but it seemed he wasn't allowed that.

“Okay,” he agreed simply, giving Obi-Wan one last squeeze before moving away to get the kettle, pointedly not making a big deal of it. “Grab the tea, will you? Any idea who attacked you?”

“None,” he sighed, shaking his head in frustration as he opened the cupboards. His shoulders were tighter, now. Back to business, whatever his personal feelings. “The red or the green?”

“Both. You know Xani only drinks green these days.”

Obi-Wan snorted, setting the tins on the counter with shaking hands. “He’s a tasteless heathen.”

“How would your attacker have found out where you were going?” Feemor asked, glancing over from watching the water levels in the kettle, trying to surreptitiously supervise.

He picked up on it, and gave Feemor a flat, unimpressed look that did nothing to hide his anxiety. “We informed the Jedi Council of our intended destinations beforehand. Our assailants stayed on the ground, which was odd, but we were never on a planet for more than an hour or two before they showed up. My ship’s communications aren’t particularly well protected, but it would require a degree of dedication and time that there really wasn’t between attacks.”

“So it has to be… Someone on the Council?” He frowned, closing the lid on the kettle. “They may be ass-backwards shitweasels, but that’s not really their style.”

“You're right, Feemor. The situation is very odd.”

Feemor didn’t speak for a moment as he placed the kettle on its stand and turned it on. “The transmissions may have been less secure on the Council’s end. Or at least widely accessible," he suggested. He knew that his knowledge of slicing and other tech-related things was severely lacking unless it involved plants in some way. Obi-Wan was always cleverest when it came to those kinds of things.

“Fair point.”

“Next step is figuring out motives. Anyone you or Qui-Gon annoyed, or even Xanatos… Hey, you don’t think…?”

“No, I don’t think so. He was too surprised.” Obi-Wan sighed, rubbing idly at his beard, which Feemor knew hid a small scar from his short tenure as a slave in Xanatos’s mine. “And if we sat around trying to make a list of the people Qui-Gon pissed off, we’d be here at least a full cycle just writing down names.”

“Then we’d have to find their next of kin because chances are that _they_ hate Qui-Gon too.”

They exchanged a look of exasperation, a familiar feeling bordering on fondness surrounding their former Master’s tendency to solve the problem first and consider ramifications afterward. They stood in brooding silence for a long moment.

Obi-Wan's hands hadn't stopped their gentle trembling, although his shoulders were less tight. Feemor would have given anything to take this burden from his little brother, but he knew that Obi-Wan wouldn't allow him to even if it was possible. He would never allow someone to suffer for him, and while it was one of his more annoying traits, it was also one of his most admirable. Feemor cared for him a great deal, and this was one of the many reasons why. No matter what path Obi-Wan's life had taken, he was inherently good. No matter what the Council or the Jedi said, no matter if the entire galaxy was against them, Feemor trusted in Obi-Wan's character. 

The kettle whistled suddenly, startling Obi-Wan enough that he knocked one of the mugs off the counter. “Fuck me _sideways_.”

“Language, Obi-Wan,” Feemor scolded idly, catching it with the Force before it hit the floor. He glanced over at Obi-Wan in continued concern. The jumpiness was never a good sign, although Feemor wouldn't have described anything today as a good sign. In fact, all signs indicated that the shit was about to hit the fan.

“Language, Obi-Wan,” Obi-Wan mocked, and though Feemor couldn’t see him, he didn’t need the Force to know that he was sticking out his tongue.

Fortunately, Feemor had his brother at his side. Together, they had weathered many shit storms with various consequences. They could weather this, too.

Snickering softly, Feemor poured the water and Obi-Wan added the leaves, exuding amusement and as much contentment as could be found in the situation. They stared at the steeping tea together for a moment.

“Time to face them again,” Obi-Wan said, suddenly morose.

Feemor chuckled again, patting Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “You’re Sith, Obi-Wan. What have you to fear?”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which plans are made to make plans, Feemor and Qui-Gon reconcile, Xanatos knows all about being the Best Big Brother Ever, and flashbacks kind of answer some questions but really just create a whole lot more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all. Sorry about the crazy delay - since posting, I was in a car crash, had a major health scare, and my laptop shit the bed and it took three weeks to repair. I really wish I was exaggerating. You've all been so kind and enthusiastic and I'm going to reply to the comments I haven't replied to yet right after posting, but know that I appreciate every single comment and every single kudo!!! It's been the craziest, more euphoric feeling to see people enjoying this story. I've laboured over this universe and I'm so happy others are enjoying it.  
> The next update should be a LOT quicker in coming (and a bit longer, too)!!  
> I'll put it out there, in response to the response to last chapter - trust me when I say that the tags are appropriate as of right now. I will be adding more as the story progresses, but I see no reason to spoil anything yet ;)  
> Also, this chapter introduces the first of several flashbacks I have planned. It's mostly exposition for the changes I've made to this universe. Let me know what you think!  
> If anyone wants to yell at me about Obi-Wan (potentially?) being a Sith or about my lack of updates, you can find me on tumblr at goldensilvan!

**28 BBY, Tanaab**

“Oh, Force bless your souls,” Xanatos moaned, making grabby hands for the mug Obi-Wan was floating just out of his reach.

It was clear they’d walked into a Tense Situation. Feemor could vaguely remember once walking in on a room full of people who had literally been trying to kill each other three hours previous with Qui-Gon on a mission and this was not unlike that. In fairness to Anakin, he looked as awkward as Feemor felt. Diplomacy had never been his strong suit (and it was evidently not Anakin’s either), and he hoped like hell that Obi-Wan had some sort of plan for this.

Obi-Wan scoffed dramatically, allowing Xanatos to take the mug. “Your enthusiasm for this steeped grass is disgusting.”

So that’s how they were breaking the ice.

“Obi,” Anakin chided, eyes bright. The kid had caught on to his ploy. “Green tea is nice.”

“Look what you’ve done!” Obi-Wan whirled back to Xanatos. “You’ve corrupted poor little Anakin!”

“If he hangs out with you, there’s nothing left to corrupt,” Feemor said mildly, handing Qui-Gon his tea.

“You make it sound like I smuggle him holo-porn and drugs.”

“You don’t?” Xanatos said, visibly offended.

Feemor rolled his eyes and sent Xanatos a mental poke to subside.

Anakin and Obi-Wan had a quiet, fond exchange as Qui-Gon sniffed his mug, eyebrows raising in appreciation. “This is an excellent blend.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Feemor agreed, settling himself in. “One of Obi’s better souvenirs.”

“What qualifies as a poor souvenir?” Qui-Gon’s curiousity could always be counted upon to get the better of him, bless his heart.

Feemor glanced over at Obi-Wan, who was telling Anakin something that his Master would no doubt disapprove of, based on the way they were huddled together and Xanatos was nodding passionately. “Scars,” he answered finally.

Qui-Gon seemed to sigh, not lifting his eyes from his mug for a long moment.

“No, Concordia isn’t exactly Mandalore. It’s a moon, and where they exiled their warriors after the war,” Obi-Wan was arguing.

Anakin frowned. “Okay, but isn’t Mandalore the whole system?”

“It is, yes. However, the True Mandalorians live on Mandalore, so it’s a slight.”

Xanatos had opened his mouth to reply when Qui-Gon spoke again and Feemor tuned out the discussion on Mandalore.

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon said slowly.

Feemor wouldn’t let him get away with it that easily. He would readily admit to a little pettiness in that moment, but he needed to hear this. “For?”

Qui-Gon finally looked up from his mug, features set in annoyance. His piercing eyes seemed to take in Feemor’s set blank expression and it took a second, but understanding dawned. “Thank you for taking care of Obi-Wan,” he elaborated, a little flatly, but he said it.

“I didn’t do it for you,” Feemor said evenly. “But you’re welcome.”

“I’m sure you have questions…”

“I do, but I don’t think you have the kind of answers I’d want to hear. And I don’t want to have to explain to Obi-Wan why I punched you,” he added, his smile not entirely kind.

Qui-Gon snorted. “I don’t imagine you do.”

They sat in silence once again. But it wasn’t tense, not anymore. Whatever Qui-Gon’s faults, this was, well, _Qui-Gon_. They’d always been more partners than Master and Padawan, considering how Qui-Gon had only finished his training after his first master, Kimal, had died, and that rapport wasn’t slow in re-establishing itself. They’d always stood together, no matter their differences.

This was… This was so familiar. Feemor ached for the time they’d lost in heartache and separation. He didn’t regret distancing himself, but that didn’t stop him from wishing for a universe in which it hadn’t been necessary.

He’d missed Qui-Gon Jinn. And now, having him back, sitting with Obi-Wan and Xanatos and even little Anakin, it was nice.

“So what’s the plan?” Feemor asked eventually, snapping himself from the morbid thoughts.

Qui-Gon gave him a small, cautious smile. “You haven’t changed.”

“I’ve always refused to run the show and I’m certainly not about to lead the charge against Force-knows-what’s against us this time.”

“You’re the only one of my Padawans to have that attitude.”

Feemor grinned, meeting Qui-Gon’s eyes squarely. “Half of _my_ training was not under a certified crazy person. But then, neither Xani nor Obi-Wan were the sanest when you picked them up, and I hear Anakin brought a fighter to a cruiser fight.”

“He won with that fighter, but point made. Let’s prod the craziest of them, shall we?”

“It hurts me a little to admit that I don’t know which one of the hellions you’re referring to.”

Qui-Gon smirked, then coughed politely.

All three immediately fell silent and looked over expectantly. Obi-Wan and Xanatos caught themselves right after doing it and exchanged a scowling look.

Proximity let Feemor catch the tangle of sad-amused that came off of Qui-Gon.

“Feemor just posed an excellent question. What’s our plan?” Qui-Gon asked.

Xanatos sat back, clearly deferring to Obi-Wan, who frowned thoughtfully. “We need to figure out who wants us dead before making a plan.”

“I thought that was obvious? The pirates,” Anakin said, furrowing his brow. “Didn’t they not like you anyway?”

Well. When Anakin put it like that… it did feel obvious.

Obi-Wan, however, looked skeptical. “I have dealt with Cutter and his little band of followers in the past. This isn’t their style, but… I won’t discard the possibility. The immediate issue is figuring out how they got into our communications.”

“Your ship isn’t exactly secure, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said dryly. “I’m not sure it’s much of a mystery.”

“They may have been hacked from the Council’s end,” Feemor countered. “ _Serenity_ may not be up to governmental levels of security, but it’s much easier to hack a stationary target with a secure connection to the holonet or even to retrieve copies of recordings that the Council makes with non-Jedi informants.”

“Anakin and I can run some tests, eliminate _Serenity_ as an option. Then we can check in with someone on Coruscant we trust to be discreet, who will investigate on that end,” Obi-Wan said decisively.

Qui-Gon nodded slowly. “We tell them it’s urgent but we aren’t in immediate danger. I’ll contact someone so they don’t know who else is involved.”

“Excellent, then – ”

“Obi-Wan, we need to know about Cutter.”

The temperature in the room dropped by about ten degrees.

Obi-Wan visibly paled. “I really don’t think it’s him.” He looked down at his half-full mug of tea, hand sliding idly down the handle.

“Just in case,” he insisted. “You obviously know more than the Council.”

“What the Council knows, I told them,” Obi-Wan said, voice laced with bitterness.

They all sat in silence. Feemor knew part of this story. He knew the scars that had come with this story; he knew the haunted looked in Obi-Wan’s eyes that always came with any mention of this story. The urge to tell everyone it was irrelevant was almost overpowering.

Qui-Gon, obviously a little remorseful, looked ready to press again. Xanatos spoke before he could.

“Is he…?” He trailed off.

Obi-Wan nodded sharply. “My last mission as a Jedi.”

 

**31 BBY, Sith Space – One Year After the Invasion of Naboo**

“No, Masters, I did not find anything of note on Krayiss Two, however –”

“Knight Kenobi, this wild chase has gone on for long enough. The Sith Lords have not been residing on any of the traditional Sith worlds, this is clear,” Mace Windu said, frowning. “We’re re-assigning you.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi felt his stomach sink.

Three months, he had been chasing the ghost of the Sith Lord he had defeated on Naboo, and he was no closer to figuring things out. Leads had taken him first to Iridonia and then to Dathomir, where the Nightbrothers had been supremely unhelpful, and then to various Sith Worlds where he donned Mandalorian armour and hoped to the Force no one would figure out he was a Jedi. All he had to show for it was a name – Maul – and a certainty that he was not the Master, but the Apprentice.

It wasn’t much.

It was more than most people seemed to have expected, however, and Obi-Wan could recognize that the trips learning about Sith customs and culture were hardly wasted in their new vendetta against the Sith. It wasn’t like the galaxy at large was helping any – most believed the Sith to be a fairy tale, and while this assassin was certainly scary to them, he was hardly the stuff of nightmares he was to the Jedi.

“Masters, please,” Obi-Wan asked as calmly as he could muster. “The Force is directing me to continue with my mission. I have not yet searched several of the planets in this sector. I am already in Rhelg’s orbit, and –”

“We have received intelligence that Maul has been spotted working with a crime syndicate on Nar Shaddaa.”

He felt his eyes widening. “Will I be re-assigned there, Masters?” he asked, trying to keep the hope out of his voice and probably failing miserably.

Yoda knocked his stick against his chair to draw everyone’s attention. “The mission to Nar Shaddaa, serious, it is. An undercover agent, we have need of. Believe you capable, this Council does, but with you, the decision lies. Make it lightly, you must not.”

“I will take the time to give this matter the consideration it deserves,” Obi-Wan lied. He was doing the mission. There were an untold number of upsides to this situation, not the least of which was that it would keep him away from Coruscant for a time. He was Jedi enough to admit that maybe his dedication to his former mission wasn’t just due to his desire to find the Sith and bring them to justice.

Of course he _did_ want the Sith found and brought to justice, that was a given, but… He was very glad it was him, as it meant he didn’t have to be in-Temple. The Jedi as a whole were prone to gossip, and Obi-Wan was the first Jedi to defeat a Sith in a hundred years. The Temple was a place full of stares and judgment right now as they tried to discern whether he had truly earned his conferred Knightship. For the first time, he understood Vos’s aversion to staying grounded for too long.

The other, even less palatable reason for his avoidance of Coruscant was Obi-Wan’s former Master, Qui-Gon Jinn. The two had had a rocky relationship once, but Obi-Wan had thought they’d moved past that, had grown close, but Qui-Gon had made his feelings on his former Padawan _very_ clear before the Council during the Naboo fiasco. And now, watching Qui-Gon train the boy he’d been so eager to replace Obi-Wan with was merely a source of consternation and pain.

Consumed by jealousy, Obi-Wan had studiously avoided the new pair as best he could. Anakin, however, was not to be deterred. He had apparently taken a liking to Obi-Wan, who had taken care of him while Qui-Gon recuperated, and sought him out whenever he could. It had led to the exchange of comm designations and while Obi-Wan had not spent much time hoping for a better relationship with Qui-Gon, his brotherhood with Anakin was strong. Qui-Gon had not so much as asked Obi-Wan how he was since the first day he’d woken up.

But then, their first months together had been mediating the clusterfuck of a political situation on Naboo post-fiasco. They’d stayed on planet for six months to help with the election of a new Queen and smooth everything over before returning to the Temple. Now, whenever he visited, he had to figure out how to see Anakin without needing to interact with Qui-Gon, which was easier said than done. While dodging inquisitive gossip-mongers, admirers, and Quinlan Vos. He spent his entire last period on Coruscant wishing there was a Sith Lord he could go fight.

So long as he was out on a mission, none of this bothered him.

Yoda, little green know-it-all that he was, clearly saw through Obi-Wan’s nice words to the decision made underneath. “Much consideration, this mission requires.”

“It would be an extended undercover mission on Nar Shaddaa. Know that you would be almost entirely cut off from the Temple,” Windu warned him. “You would be inserting yourself into a crime syndicate to gather intel on their relationship with the Sith. This is not lightly done.”

The mission sounded better with every word, but Obi-Wan knew better than to make a rash emotional decision concerning something like this. Inserting oneself into a crime syndicate was not lightly done. He considered it for a moment.

Yep, worth it.

He nodded solemnly. “May I have a cycle to consider the mission and return to you with my decision?”

“Granted, Knight Kenobi. In fact, you’re being recalled to the Temple anyway. The details of this mission are too sensitive to share over holo.”

“I will take this time to meditate upon my decision,” he lied. Making up his mind and committing to a course of action had never been a weakness of his. The time would be spent napping, probably.

“What details we can share, we’ll transfer. See you soon, Knight Kenobi. May the Force be with you.”

“And also with you.”

Obi-Wan stood there for a long moment after the call was cut.

Rhelg seemed to burn beneath him, civilisation shining brightly despite the planet’s dark past. It would be so easy to just go down, take a little look around, dig up information… He had a feeling about this planet. He had a _strong_ feeling about Rhelg… but he couldn’t disobey the Council. As much as he had his doubts over the handling of the Naboo affair and so many others of the Council’s decisions, he couldn’t just go against them like that.

However popular he had become with the Jedi at large, Obi-Wan knew he would never shake his reputation as an arrogant little upstart with the Council. They had seen him at his worst and he had paid for it ever since.

Sighing irritably, Obi-Wan moved to the cockpit of the small ship he’d been lent to execute his mission, cramped but functional and reliable. He put in the coordinates for Corsucant, although not without a longing glance at Rhelg’s surface.

He piloted the ship to a safe spot to engage the hyperdrive and did so, sparing only a glance for the stars streaking by his viewport before turning on his padd. The Council, true to their word, had sent over several files.

A couple were on Nar Shaddaa in general, most of which he already knew. He’d navigated that hive of scum and villainy as a teen following on Qui-Gon’s heels as he hunted Os Balog. He decided to return to that file a little later, when he was a little less emotional.

The important file wasn’t hard to find.

Jax Cutter: his target.

Once a low-level pirate leading a crew of maybe ten, a sudden influx of weapons and massive ship upgrades had brought him onto the radar. The mysterious benefactor hadn’t been identified, but Cutter had been attacking high profile ships, a huge step up from his former petty crimes. He had a reputation for being ruthless, bordering on sadistic. Hostages taken by Cutter’s Screw had a 100% mortality rate, and were frequently abused beyond recognition if their bodies were found at all. They had a rivalry with the Blood Bone Order, and Obi-Wan shuddered to think of what they would disagree over. Anyone who could stand up to one of the most notoriously vicious crews in the Outer Rim wasn’t someone to take lightly.

The more he read, the more he felt the Force nudging him.

Obi-Wan was going to be taking this mission. The Force wanted him to, he could tell that much. He could also discern the importance of the mission. Something drastic rested on the fate of this mission.

This had _Sith_ written all over it.

 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which certain characters get an attitude check (you know who you are, QUI-GON.), important conversations are had, and, in true Star Wars tradition, we have Shirtless Nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know Star Wars had so many time notation system until I tried to write this chapter. Timelines tend to use BBY, but to a character before the Battle of Yavin, it wouldn't make much sense, so I did some digging. Turns out, this fic takes place in a ten-year sweet spot wherein they use a totally different notation system than they do at literally any other point in history... just for fun, I guess? I looked at that system, decided that *that* wasn't happening, and figured the Jedi are historians, right? Whose lives are affected every day by the Ruusan Reformation? They're gonna measure time based on that. For reference, the Reformation took place in 1000 BBY, so 28 BBY is 972 Ruus. 
> 
> Trigger warnings for this chapter: some swearing, unnamed character death, and hardcore dissociation associated with traumatic memories. There's no explicit description of physical torture but it's heavily implied that it has happened. An unnamed minor character's body is found and there is some vague description of their injuries.

_The lights were flickering._

_It was incredibly disorienting, Obi-Wan thought. The ship seemed to be lilting wildly, or… oh, it genuinely was tilting. What had happened to the artificial gravity?_

_You happened, a small voice at the back of his head whispered. You happened to the whole ship._

_He reached out blindly, grappling with the walls for a long moment before finding any semblance of balance. His fingertips came away slick with blood. Whose blood was it? Oh, it was his. That wasn’t going to heal in a hurry, he mused, considering the wounds he must be sporting to have bled that much._

_Everything was blurry, disjointed, far away…_

_The Force._

_Clarity struck Obi-Wan like a sledgehammer._

_The Force wasn’t responding to him._

_There was a faint murmur, enough to know it was there, but it was elusive as it had never been for him. Sliding just beyond his grasp. Muddying his senses instead of bolstering his failing body. It enveloped him, forcing him under. He stumbled into the wall, overwhelmed, and his body protested the sudden movement, telling him in no uncertain terms that he should not be moving._

_He hit the ground. It was probably a hard fall, but there was no sensation. Somewhere between the wall and the floor, something had started ringing in his ears. He felt like he was underwater. Someone was screaming. Was it him? Was he screaming?_

_Was it the person on the floor next to him that was screaming?_

_No._

_Pink hair lay against the floor of the ship, falling into the grating like the silk draperies that had once lined a palace where he’d been happy; a darker red streaking through, dripping off of the ends and making soft noises as it hit the pipes beneath. But those glassy eyes… they weren’t right. Why weren’t they right?_

_Wake up, he prodded the pink-haired figure. Wake up._

_Shining yellow reflected back at him, and it was all he could do to not be sick. He changed his mind._

_Close your eyes, he pleaded instead. I don’t want to see myself in them._

_I don’t want to see myself burn._

Obi-Wan woke with a start.

His heart pounded as he took in his surroundings. He wasn’t on _Serenity_. It wasn’t his room at Feemor’s. The Force was cold and distant and he couldn’t breathe –

Feemor let out a snore beside him.

Safe. He was safe. He touched the Force again, and while turbulent, it was warm.

Although the ceiling was unfamiliar, he was at Feemor’s. On Tanaab. He’d let Xanatos use his room and was sharing with Feemor. He sat up, running a shaking hand through his hair and reined in his Force signature, which he was sure was pretty disturbing. Fuck. He’d been so good about nightmares. Beside him, Feemor stirred slightly, obviously bothered by the strange vibe.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered, lacing his voice with Force suggestion. Feemor’s brow furrowed, instinctively fighting, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile at his brother’s stubbornness. Even in sleep, he could be a contrary bastard when someone tried to get him to do something he didn’t want to do. But he didn’t need to be up.

“Sleep,” Obi-Wan insisted, pushing a little harder.

With a final grumble, Feemor rolled back over and went back to sleep.

Concerned brother figure dealt with, Obi-Wan only had his own thoughts to contend with once again. For a moment, he regretted not letting Feemor wake up, if only to have someone to distract him.

The nightmares came and went. He’d been advised to seek counselling of some sort, but he wasn’t really sure _anyone_ was equipped to help him deal with the trauma of the last few years, and besides, it wasn’t like he was about to snap and start mass-murdering in the name of Darth Sidious or anything. He could handle nightmares.

He _could_ handle nightmares.

Obi-Wan sighed.

No matter how many years passed since the Incident, as he’d taken to calling it, every moment was as painful as it had ever been. That was the difference in the Light and Dark Sides, he’d realized. In keeping your emotions close to your chest to use them, they didn’t fade. The memories didn’t fade, either. They were confusing and disorienting, but that had nothing to do with his mind dulling the edges of that moment and everything to do with the situation.

He took a deep breath and centred himself as best he could, but he could tell that he would find no peace tonight.

As quietly as he could, he slipped out of bed and grabbed a shirt and his lightsaber from the top of his bag with the intent to practice some katas or something in Feemor’s yard until the sun rose. That plan was quickly discarded when he spotted Qui-Gon in the kitchen. He could just make out the door over Qui-Gon’s shoulder. The back door would involve trying to get past Anakin, who was an incredibly light sleeper.

Obi-Wan stood at an impasse. He _really_ didn’t want to talk to Qui-Gon without a buffer. Maybe he could go back to bed and just… meditate for a while? Qui-Gon wouldn’t be up _all_ night, surely. Yeah, that was a plan. He could just stealthily make his way back to Feemor’s room and hang out in there until Qui-Gon moved. Perfect.

“Admiring Feemor’s hallway?” Qui-Gon called softly.

Aw, fuck. Caught.

Mentally sighing in resignation, Obi-Wan steeled himself. Had he mentioned how little he wanted to do this? Nevertheless, he was no coward. He drew up his walls and guarded his Force signature.

He strode into the kitchen, feeling like he’d rather be walking into a Sarlacc nest.

“Feemor has a lovely home,” Obi-Wan said, belatedly deflecting Qui-Gon’s callout.

Qui-Gon nodded. “That he does.”

_Qui-Gon: 1, Obi-Wan: 0._

Trading verbal parries with his Master had once been one of Obi-Wan’s favourite pastimes. Now, he was chagrined to realize he was out of practice. He was by no means slow-witted or a poorer diplomat for the time spent on his own, but Qui-Gon Jinn was a particular brand of trying and he’d managed to… well, not forget that Qui-Gon was exhausting but that he’d need to be on mental point. In all their time on _Serenity_ while fleeing pirates and then assassins, they hadn’t spent a moment alone together.

Obi-Wan felt like a child caught out of mischief. He _always_ did around Qui-Gon.

“Why are you awake?” Obi-Wan asked eventually.

“Why are you?” Qui-Gon non-answered.

Force, the man was _frustrating_. Whatever tentative peace he’d found with Feemor earlier (yesterday, maybe? What time was it?) obviously didn’t extend to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan shrugged, not answering either, but at least he was being a little more direct about it.

The silence between them stretched on.

Qui-Gon adjusted his grip on his tea and stared out the window at the night sky like this was just any old mission they’d done together. It felt so… familiar. So normal.

How could he stand there like nothing had changed between them?

He still felt so _unbalanced_ from the nightmare. Everything was on kilter, the Force was still playing blasted coy with him, and he was just… so tired. Feemor’s was his refuge, but now Qui-Gon Jinn was here, and he just had to make everything about himself, as blasted _always_. Wasn’t everything about Qui-Gon? His apprenticeship, and then his Knighting, and now _this_? As hard as he’d tried to build a life outside of Qui-Gon Fucking Jinn and the Jedi Temple, everything always came back to this.

To the tall, immovable man beside him ignoring him in favour of anything else, leaving Obi-Wan floundering, never cast to be cast a rope or the barest piece of driftwood.

Obi-Wan clutched his lightsaber until he could feel his hand shaking. He was better than this. He _was_. He’d beaten a Force-damned Sith. He’d lived among the most sadistic pirates he’d ever known. He’d overcome trials Qui-Gon couldn’t imagine and had done so on his own.

He opened his mouth to say something. To ask Qui-Gon where he was when Obi-Wan had needed him. To ask what was so blasted important that he hadn’t noticed their bond being cut. To ask if Anakin was everything he’d hoped.

Qui-Gon beat him to it.

“I’ve missed you.”

Obi-Wan bristled. “Oh?”

That would explain the dozens of messages from Qui-Gon, the inquiries after his health and well-being, the effort to see each other… Oh, wait, no. Those had never happened. So where _the fuck_ was this coming from?

“I’m told you became one of the most efficient, effective Knights the Order had seen while you stayed. I only wonder why you left.”

“Maybe you would know had you ever asked,” Obi-Wan shot back before he could stop himself, before he could censor his words.

Qui-Gon was unruffled by his harsh tone. “I’m asking now.”

The nerve.

He distantly felt the give of his palm as his grip on his lightsaber became enough to cut flesh, but he didn’t let go. He crossed his arms, feeling the press of metal against his side as he stared resolutely out the window. Obviously something out there was damned fascinating, considering Qui-Gon had hardly glanced at him.

“And you think that you can walk into my life as nothing has happened and demand answers? I no longer answer to you. You know, I once valued your opinion so much I was willing to blow myself up to redeem myself in your eyes. I once ran along behind you on a broken leg so you wouldn’t be alone in the darkest moments of your life. And you know how you repaid me? Dismissal. Recrimination.”

“Obi-Wan…”

Oh, no. He was on a roll now. All of the years of pent-up anger and frustration came pouring out, and he only barely caught himself about to shout. No use in bringing down the house.

“I fought so hard for your attention. For your affection. I had to compete with Xanatos, then with Master Tahl, and eventually with Anakin. I was a child, Qui-Gon.” His voice cracked. “I was just a child. I wanted so badly to be the Padawan you wanted and I thought I’d managed it until Naboo, when I realized you had merely settled for me and I felt like that child in the mines on Bandomeer all over again.

“So, no, thank you. I do not want to discuss my decision to leave the Order with you, because you certainly never gave me any indication you cared whether I stayed.”

Obi-Wan saw Qui-Gon turn out of the corner of his eye, but stared resolutely ahead. Feemor had a huge tract of land, considering he was way out in the middle of nowhere. _Serenity_ ’s blinking lights were barely visible. The trees swayed slightly in the wind.

The silence between them stretched on yet again.

He unclenched his hand from around his lightsaber, and preoccupied himself for a moment by passing it over to his undamaged hand and flexing his slightly injured hand. No real damage. It would be healed by morning.

Then he considered just walking away. This interaction had been nothing but unpleasant, but he wasn’t raised in the sublevels of Coruscant. He had better manners than that. Obi-Wan resisted sneaking a glance at Qui-Gon, gathering his frayed nerves.

He mustered every ounce of professionalism he could. “I hope this won’t impact our working relationship. I don’t want Anakin to know anything is amiss, and frankly, I think Xanatos still wants to kill you anyway. He doesn’t need much of a reason,” he added wryly.

“It… it wasn’t all so terrible, was it?” Qui-Gon whispered. A small tendril of the Force brushed against him, bearing the heavy tones of disappointed-angry-sad- _desolated_.

Despite himself, Obi-Wan softened. Too many years of protecting his Master from outside sources had instilled a fierce protective instinct that refused to fade. Even though what he’d said was necessary and true and maybe someday he could convince himself that he felt better for it, it was still harsh.

He turned, meeting Qui-Gon’s eyes, his lips quirking. “No. Most of it wasn’t terrible at all. You were an excellent teacher when I held your attention.” Obi-Wan let himself smile a bit more to take the bite out of his next words. “And that’s why you’d better pay attention to Anakin. He has three older brothers who are willing to kick your ass in varying degrees of intensity if you don’t.”

“Understood.”

Obi-Wan figured that was about as good as he was going to get. “Then I wish you a good night.”

Qui-Gon nodded, his mind a hundred galaxies away. He wondered idly whether Qui-Gon’s tea was cold. Had he been standing at that window pondering big questions so long that he needed hot water?

The large frame at the window was so familiar, and yet, as alien as anything he’d encountered in Wild Space. Sometimes he wondered if he’d ever truly known his Master at all.

* * *

 

With so many thoughts and memories clanging around in his head, he ached for meditation, but he knew that on a night like tonight, with energy setting his nerves alight, Obi-Wan needed something a little more physical.

He did the bare minimum in stretching before launching into the third Juyo kata. It was incredibly taxing, physically, but a kata he had done so many times that he could allow muscle memory to take over while he considered his night. The Force filled him, evening out his already intolerable energy. He left his body in the hands of the Force as he flipped and spun, turning his mind inwards.

His nightmare.

Obi-Wan hadn’t had one in ages, but then, he hadn’t thought about his time aboard the Cutlass in ages. Obviously, he hadn’t done as stellar a job at dealing with it as he’d hoped. The nightmares were probably delayed reactions from being on the ship once again, leaving his psyche alone until he was in a safe place to deal with them. But he hadn’t frozen when confronting Cutter. He hadn’t hesitated in running onto the ship to save Qui-Gon and Anakin.

He started right into the fourth kata.

He hadn’t come too late to save them. He’d gotten them out. Led them right into more danger, sure, but danger was everywhere. He could cope with this.

He let his anxiety go, let it slide into the Force.

His conversation with Qui-Gon.

After years of holding his silence, it was finally out there. Their relationship had been mercurial at best, sometimes a perfect partnership but often a partnership fraught with miscommunication and other issues. Qui-Gon was simply too involved in seeing the bigger picture, so much so that he frequently forgot the smaller issues… like the little Padawan who had trailed along behind him, begging for scraps of attention.

And yet, Obi-Wan had spoken truthfully. It wasn’t all terrible. He needed to remember the bright moments of his apprenticeship with Qui-Gon as well as he remembered the dark ones to keep a clear head. All of those planets where they’d drunk with the locals. The lessons Qui-Gon had helped him with. Their perfect symbiosis before Naboo.

The brilliance of their partnership had made it hurt all the more when Qui-Gon had cast it aside.

He started in on the fifth kata, movements quickening.

Obi-Wan was a different person now. He could overcome this. Whatever his relationship with Qui-Gon turned out to be, he would be fine. After this, he would probably never see Qui-Gon again.

He released the pang of sadness and disappointment at that thought into the Force almost before considering it. He gathered the determination, however, and held it close to his chest, letting the Force stoke it and use it to sustain him.

The rest of the katas were spent in blissful peace, his thoughts quieted as he drank deeply from the well of the Force. He landed in the last pose with a sense of finality, far more settled into his skin with the excess energy burnt off. The Force surrounded him, a far cry from its distance earlier. Warm and grounding, it whispered into his ears about purpose and his next steps. Panting in the chilly night air, he stood quietly for a long moment before turning to make the short trek to check on _Serenity_ in an unhurried, slow pace.

She chirped softly as he climbed the boarding ramp.

 _Serenity_ was the ship to make him change his mind on flying. Although the years of playing at chauffeur for Qui-Gon when there were more pressing matters had turned him from his childhood dreams of being a pilot, _Serenity_ was a joy to handle and he loved the little ship. Throughout his travels, he’d picked up enough mechanical knowledge to recognize that _Serenity_ had some level of artificial intelligence and know how to maintain her properly. She'd been a steady friend through many dangers.

“How is everything looking, _Serenity_?”

A pleasant-sounding whistle was her response. The display flickered quickly through various screens, everything looking normal from his end. He would do a closer check before they left again, but for now, he trusted her word.

“Want to bring up the list of our… less reputable friends?”

 _Serenity_ chirped, sounding a little disgruntled by the request, but acquiesced. Murmuring a quick thank you, he started scrolling through the names and designations, sending some brief messages. Even had he not had the Force, his next step would have been obvious. As it was, the Force was nudging him hard towards certain contacts.

He sighed, more at the inevitability than anything else. “Well, _Serenity_ , looks like we’re going back to Nar Shaddaa.” She whistled morosely. “I don’t like it either, but I am not surprised that we’re going to have to go back to the beginning to unravel this little mystery of ours.”

Obi-Wan ran a hand over her dashboard idly. “We have a few days to sort everything out, though. With any luck, a better option will present itself.”

 _Serenity_ seemed disbelieving, and he couldn’t blame her. He’d never had that kind of luck in his life, why would he start now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I just love my favourite characters being happy and having healthy relationships! They're all just so darn good at communicating. 
> 
> Fun author's fact, the conversation between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon is one of the four scenes I built this entire AU around. Originally, it took place on Serenity and involved Obi-Wan defending himself as to why he left the Order. The only other scene that made the final cut is when Obi-Wan explains what he can in Feemor's kitchen. The other two have no place in the story I want to tell, but I may release them as one shots later!


End file.
